


I'll Be Home for Next Year, Darling

by crossroadswrite



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Alternative Time Lines, Derek Hale's Life is Still Tragic but Not as Tragic as It Could've Been, Happy Ending, Image Warning: Blood and Injury, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Non-Linear Narrative, Pre-Canon Setting, Temporary/Alluded Character Death, Universe Alterations, but understandable don't you even worry, panick attacks, switching POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 00:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7337809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What year is it?” he asks, because well. It happened to Marty McFly right? And werewolves are real so-</p><p>“Time travel isn’t real,” Derek says immediately.</p><p>Stiles huffs because fine he doesn’t want to cooperate Stiles will just have to rub his point all over Derek’s face until he gets it.</p><p>“It’s July 12th of 2010.”</p><p>“It’s 2003,” Derek counters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. take me to where you are

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my first big bang ever and lemme tell you it has been an _experience_. And after some stressful months (*coughs* sprint writing at the last minute *coughs*) of working this is what I have to show for it.
> 
> I have to thank the mods of the teen wolf big bang that were so incredibly patient and willing to answer my dumb questions, my _amazing_ artist, [dreaminpng over on tumblr](http://dreaminpng.tumblr.com) that somehow I was lucky enough to be partnered with (like hOLY SHIT Y'ALL HAVE YOU SEEN THEM ART SKILLS??!!), and of course my lovely tireless betas who I adore so much and y'all should 100% check them out because otherwise I would be LOST, [ThroughTheTulips](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroughTheTulips) and [LadyDrace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace).
> 
> Title of the fic and name of the chapters come from Next Year by [Two Door Cinema Club](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VTuJuok5QK4).
> 
> And now onwards to the self-indulgent trip that this is.

_ _

Art by dreaminpng [[livejournal](http://dreaminpng.livejournal.com/3705.html) | [tumblr](http://dreaminpng.tumblr.com/post/146653613107/art-for-crossroadwrites-fic-ill-be-home-for-next)]

 

_Stiles is running through the woods._

_It’s a familiar motion, a familiar feeling. The entire situation gives him a sense of déjà vu, from the tightness in his chest, the suffocating panic and fear wrapping tightly around his lungs and squeezing as he races to save someone from impending death._

_He hates that it feels familiar, he hates that this, somehow, is his new normal._

_He hates that even now, even with that little extra spark, he’s still not able to outrun monsters, he still can’t save anyone._

«»

“Laura, Mom said we shouldn’t come here,” Derek calls out, struggling to keep up with his older sister as they march the woods.

“This is our property, Der. I’m just being a responsible Alpha-to-be and patrolling our property,” she throws over her shoulder, power-walking away.

Derek catches up to her and grabs her by the arm, forcing her to look at him. “You’re looking for trouble. If you’re mad at Mom just highlight one of her books, don’t make me come into the woods with you to visit the forbidden tree.”

Laura snorts, throwing her arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a headlock.

“Do you listen to yourself?” she laughs. “Oh, the _forbidden tree_ . How _spooky_.”

Derek pulls at her arm, growling subvocally which, of course, has absolutely no effect on Laura whatsoever.

“Calm your tits, DeeDee. We’re just having a look-see, alright?”

Derek finally manages to push her off with a disgruntled huff.

“My tits are _perfectly_ calm, _LoLo_. Your tits are the ones throwing a hissy fit because Mom doesn’t let you do what you want,” he snips.

Laura growls and takes a swipe at him but Derek manages to duck away easily, taking one moment to thank his Aunt Lyris for her sporadic ballet lessons.

“Losing sk-“ he starts and is immediately tackled down by Laura.

“You were saying?” Laura challenges, holding him down and flashing her golden eyes at him.

Derek tries to take a swipe at her but that only ends with his wrists pinned to the floor as Laura smiling toothily.

“I hate you,” he tells her.

Laura laughs and taps his chest twice, right over where his heart stutters. “ _Liar liar._ ”

“You’re the worst.”

Laura gets up and offers a hand to help him up. “Aw DeeDee, I love you too.”

Derek bats her hand away and gets up by himself. “Literally the worst. There is no one worse than you.”

“What about Uncle Peter when he’s bored.”

Derek takes a second to consider how his uncle has a thing for causing mayhem when there’s nothing else to entertain him and then says, “Worse than that. Definitely.”

Laura gasps in mock outrage. “How dare you,” she demands, resuming her power-walk towards certain trouble. “I am disowning you.”

“You’re not my mother.”

“I am your future Alpha, shithead. I can totally disown you.”

Derek shoves her. “Not if I tell Mom.”

“Ugh, you’re such a momma’s boy,” she teases, throwing an arm over his shoulders and steering him the right way.

“And you’re a grandma’s girl.”

“ _Yeah_ , because Grandma is cool.”

“I’m telling Mom you said you like Grandma best,” he says because well, it’s Laura and he likes being a shithead near her. It’s kind of what their entire sibling dynamic is all about.

“Mom would understand. After all Grandma moved an _entire pack_ across the ocean and single-handedly settled us in our territory. She’s badass.”

Derek can’t really argue with that. Their grandma _is_ pretty cool, tougher than nails with a take no bullshit only deliver it attitude that intimidates the toughest of guys.

“True,” he concedes and Laura ruffles his hair as a reward. Regardless of how it had taken him close to an _hour_ to get his hair to do anything but cling to his forehead with the weird cowlick he’s had since he was a toddler.

«»

_Stiles is running through the woods and everything about this is familiar, including the useless lump of injured werewolf he’s dragging along with him._

_“Come on, just a little bit more. We’re almost there.”_

«»

“We’re almost there,” Laura says just as Derek is about to open his mouth and complain about how far they’re getting from the house. Her voice is quiet and reverent when she says it.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he mumbles, dragging his feet through yellowed leaves. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but he also doesn’t want to let Laura do this alone. He needs to be there if something _bad_ happens.

“Come on, Der. It’s just a _tree_. What could possibly happen?”

“You know better than that,” he huffs because _really_? What could happen? That’s like inviting trouble right into your house and serving it a warm cup of tea and some cookies.

“Whatever. It’s just a dumb tree in the middle of the woods and as future Alpha I should know about _everything_ on my property.”

“It’s not your property yet.”

Laura huffs and flicks one of his ears in retaliation.

Derek is about to do _something_ in return but the eerie silence that has fallen around them stops him short.

Such quiet is unnerving, especially for a werewolf who is used to listening for _miles_. The shock from being able to hear every bird tweeting and flapping its wings on the highest trees, the rustle of the wind sweeping through the woods, critters here and there skittering around, the rush of water to the west of the trail they had been following, to not being able to listen to anything but the crunch of soil beneath their feet and their own breathes it’s-

It’s like an omen.

They really should turn back. Now.

“Laura,” Derek whispers, hand reaching and snatching the back of her shirt, _clutching_ at it. “Laura, let’s go back.”

“Don’t be such a baby, Derek. We’re only going to _look_ ,” she huffs but her voice waivers, unsure, clearly upset about how quiet it is here, how oppressive the air has become.

There is no wind. _At all_. It’s like there’s a dome around this place and in the center of it all a tree stump, bigger than anything Derek has ever seen.

“Well, we’ve _looked_. Now let’s go.”

Laura keeps trudging forward. “If you keep being a scaredy cat like that, you’ll never be my second.”

“Who says I want to be your second?” he asks even as he follows her, making sure to keep close.

“Who _wouldn’t_ want to be my second, you mean,” Laura says distractedly stepping closer and closer to the tree and this is _not good_.

“Lore, I really don’t think you should-“

“ _It’s just a tree, Derek._ Here I’ll prove it,” she says taking the last few steps forward until she’s in reaching distance.

“Do _not_ touch it.”

“I’m going to touch it because it’s just a tree and you are being ridiculous.”

And then she touches it. Splays her palm over the top of the tree stump, pressing down slightly.

It’s still strangely quiet around them but nothing happens.

“See it’s just a t-“ Laura’s words are cut off by her scream and Derek rushes forward, jerking her back so fast they both fall on their ass.

“Laura, are you-“

Laura’s laughing.

“Ohmygod, _your face_. That was priceless.”

Derek growls and shoves her face into the dirt.

“I hate you so much, I’m going to burn all your CDs when we get home.”

Laura tries to wrestle him down but this time Derek manages to kick out of her hold and push her away.

“You’re a terrible older sister. I’m telling Mom.”

She flicks his nose, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Don’t be like that, Der. I was just showing you there’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just a piece of wood rotting into the ground. It’s _fine_.”

Derek’s still not a hundred percent sure it _is_ fine, but Laura does seem okay.

“Come on, now you,” she prompts, getting up and dusting herself off.

“Now me what?”

“Touch it.”

“I am _not_ going to touch it.”

“I order you to touch it.”

“Fuck off,” he huffs, finally picking himself up and turning towards the house.

He’s just taken the first step when Laura says, “I double dog dare you to touch it.”

Derek freezes, slowly turning around. “How dare you use that here?” he spits because _now_ he has to do it.

It’s his integrity that’s at stake now, his _honor_.

Laura smirks and glances pointedly at the tree.

“If I die I’m going to haunt your ass forever.”

“It’s just a tree DeeDee, come _on_.”

Derek huffs and drags his feet towards the tree stump, eyeing it suspiciously. He feels like this is going to be a stupid thing to do.

«»

_Stiles is running through the woods. There’s a monster chasing after him and a monster with his arm draped over his shoulders. He’s trying to run from one and save the other._

_He knows he probably won’t make it._

_“Just leave me.”_

_“Shut up, I’m not leaving you. We’re almost there.”_

_He has to believe they’ll make it. There’s no other alternative._

_The Nemeton stands high and proud just where they left it, slowly growing back up to a proper tree, now that it’s not rotting on the inside by the Nogitsune._

_They’ll just have to get there. They just have to-_

«»

Derek’s a few steps away from the tree. He looks over his shoulder at Laura for assurance. His sister gives him a thumbs up and a slightly mocking encouraging smile.

Derek takes a deep breath and reaches forward, palm down and fingers spread as he lowers his hand to touch the rough bark.

«»

_They make it there._

«»

Nothing happens really. It’s like there had been an orchestra playing a dramatic crescendo and then suddenly had come to a halt in an anticlimactic, unsatisfying pseudoconclusion.

Derek lets out a long breath, shoulders relaxing in relief. He’s not really sure what he was expecting. It’s not like-

The wind picks up, suddenly, blowing roughly over Derek and forcing him to close his eyes against it, lose his balance.

And then it stops.

It was like one single huff of wind blew through them and then stopped. Like someone opening and closing a window quickly.

Derek blinks a couple of times and shifts in place. Goosebumps break over his skin and he doesn’t know why. He suddenly feels unsettled.

“There I touched it,” he starts. “Can we go n-“ he turns away from the tree.

Laura’s gone.

Derek blinks and then spins around in a circle.

“Laura!” he calls out but there’s nothing.

He tries sniffing the air and immediately twists his nose at the scent of _rot_ coming from the tree, of old blood and desperation that hadn’t be there before.

“Laura, this isn’t funny,” he called out.

He hastily steps away from the tree, scenting the air and trying to pick up her scent, frowning when he doesn’t find even a hint of it. He can’t even pick up his _own_ scent when he tries sniffing out the path they had come from.

“Laura, I’m serious. If you don’t get out from wherever you’re hiding, I really am burning all of your CDs. Even the autographed ones.”

There’s no response.

At this point he’s not sure if he was expecting one or not but he has to hope. He has to hope that everything is okay and Laura is just playing a stupid prank on him, otherwise he’ll start panicking and if he shifts now, in the middle of the woods, he has no idea what kind of damage he might do.

His control is good, better than Laura’s at his age and better than most his cousins, but still not flawless.

“I’m leaving without you!” he shouts, deciding to turn back towards home.

Right now the only thing he wants to do is get as far away as possible from that goddamned tree. It’s seriously giving him all the wrong bad vibes.

He starts walking, senses on high alert and panic galloping to catch him.

“It’s fine,” he says to himself. “Laura is just being a dick. There’s nothing to worry about.”

It’s not fine.

The woods are still quiet even though he has long left the bubble of silence around the tree.

There’s still birds chirping and creatures skittering and the river. But it’s dulled. There’s _less_ of it.

He looks up and squints at the harsh afternoon sun, frowning because it’s too early for the sun to be that high up in the sky.

The air in the woods smells stale somehow, like there haven’t been people around for a long time.

He starts running.

That’s when the scent of burned wood and ash and burned flesh, hints of panic and fear and desperation that seem to have been stamped into the floor assaults him.

Derek runs as fast as he can home except-

There is no home.

He skids to a halt so abruptly he actually falls, staring up at the collapsed charred husk of his house.

“No,” he whispers because _no_ this isn’t real, absolutely not. There is no way this happened. There is-

He crawls onto his hands and knees, levers himself up and stumbles until he can touch it.

“Mom!” he calls out. “Mom, where are you?”

The only response he gets is the wind picking up slightly, whistling through the broken windows of his home.

Derek touches the porch railing carefully and has to repress a sob when his fingers come away stained with ash.

He quickly rubs them off on his pants.

“Mom!” he calls again, voice breaking. “Momma, please-“

He takes a step into the porch and watches in horror as the loose floorboard collapses under him.

Derek shakes his foot off the hole and takes another step only to immediately recoil, the scent of burned flesh and charred bone, terrified frenzied panic and the unmistakable scent of pack clogging up his lungs and making him double over, retching his breakfast.

This time he doesn’t even try to prevent panic from taking him, he just falls backwards and starts hyperventilating until he thinks it will suffocate him.

«»

Stiles is driving to the warehouse district, fingers absently drumming on the the steering wheel of his not-new-but-new-to-him Jeep, loving the freedom it comes with.

There’s a duffel bag of spray cans in the passenger seat and loud pop music stuttering its way out of the beat-up columns.

As soon as he’s out of the city limits he steps on the gas, going over the speed limit and grinning at how _good_ it feels.

He’s not sure if he’s glad or not that Scott isn’t here.

He misses his best friend and curses _stupid_ summer camps that had gotten Scott so excited because “Dr. Deaton set me up, Stiles. I’ll learn a lot about animals, Stiles. This will look good when I apply to veterinarian school, Stiles.”

Which is _whatever._

Scott can be responsible and strive to get into a decent school and pursue his dream of petting dogs for a living. Stiles will just be over here doing his own thing.

His own _illegal_ thing.

Stiles has always been of the opinion that rules were meant to be broken and all that. And honestly, who is to say that he isn’t doing the community a service? Those warehouses could do with a little bit more color.

He’s being a good Samaritan if you really think about this.

The song changes and Stiles starts drumming the air, waiting for the stop light at the intersection to change.

It’s just a turn right and then he’ll just have to find the perfect building to tag. He wonders what he’ll do. He’s not sure if he’s feeling like drawing an anatomically accurate portrayal of a dick or if he feels like going political all over this beyotch.

The radio crackles and starts hiccupping. A strong breath of wind sweeps through the Jeep, strong enough to make the Jeep shake and shiver with it.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, looking over at the warehouse district and suddenly that’s not where he wants to go.

He clicks his blinker to the left instead which is- weird.

He doesn’t know why he does it. To the left there’s nothing but a straight road towards the highway and a dirt path that leads to that house that burned down years ago.

There’s no reason why he should turn left.

The light turns green and Stiles turns left.

He glances back towards the duffel full of spray paint and then ahead at the dirt path that leads to the Hale house.

He’s an asshole but he’s not the kind of asshole that would desecrate the house in which an entire family burned to death.

There are still a few lines he won’t cross.

He slows his Jeep as much as he can without it actually stopping and leans forward slightly, just as the Hale house comes into view.

There’s someone in there. He squints just in time to see a boy collapse backwards.

Stiles stops his Jeep, putting it on park and hops out warily, in case the boy is actually an insane murderer and he has to make a run for it.

He approaches slowly and cautiously.

“Hey!” he calls out. “This is private property, you can’t be here.”

The boy doesn’t seem to hear him.

“Hey,” he calls again, getting closer.

That’s when he notices it. How he’s hyperventilating, panting big gulps of air that seem to be getting strangled in his throat.

“ _Shit_ ,” Stiles mutters, rushing forward.

That’s when he notices the second thing. The most important thing.

This boy isn’t human.

His eyes are flashing a golden light on and off, there’s sharp claws at the tips of his hands and sharp fangs just poking out of his open mouth. There’s also ridiculous sideburns and pointed ears for some reason.

A big part of Stiles is just screaming _run_ , but he was never very good at listening to that part of him. He’s better at listening to the part that says _seems dangerous, you should poke it_ and he’s better at listening to the part that says _help him_.

He’s stupid like that. Also this seems like it will end up with him hurt and that’s just-

He takes a step forward, slow and careful, making his voice soft and mellow.

“Hey there, buddy.”

The boy snaps his head towards him and his breathing picks up as he scrambles back.

“Hey hey, it’s okay,” Stiles says, holding his hands up, palms turned to him so he can see he means no harm.

It doesn’t really seem to work, but at least the boy- _thing_ isn’t scrambling away from him.

“You need to breathe, okay? I’m going to grab one of your hands,” he says and slowly reaches for it, keeping a loose grip on the wrist and bringing clawed fingers to splay across his heart.

And it’s here, trying to calm down what is most possibly a creature of the night that Stiles realizes there’s something wrong with him because right now there’s a part of him yelling _he’s going to tear you apart_ and the part of him that’s supposed to kick with adrenaline and scream _run_ is very calmly and defiantly stating _good_.

“Okay, breathe quickly in twice and then one long exhale out. Like you’re going into labor.”

The boy-thing-possibly-werewolf, hiccups a breath that could’ve passed for a laugh, were he not in the middle of a full-blown panic attack.

“Come on, just breathe with me, buddy,” Stiles coaches.

It normally works for him when he’s like this. Slow breathing is all fine and dandy but it’s more difficult to control than this.

“Focus on me, come on. You’re doing awesome,” he encourages and watches attentively as the most-certainly-a-werewolf does it on his own, until his breathing evens out and his eyes seem to come back into focus.

“Better?” Stiles prods.

“You’re really pretty,” the boy rushes out on a still too-tight breath.

Well.

Okay then.

“Thanks,” he mutters dismissively because, well, this guy clearly hasn’t adjusted his vision to the cold harsh reality yet.

“You think you can stand?” Stiles asks and gets a nod in return, so he gets up and helps the other boy up. “I’m Stiles, by the way.”

“Derek,” the werewolf introduces himself, talking with some difficulty around a mouthful of fangs.

“So, _Derek_ . How long have you been a werewolf and by the way _ohmygod werewolves are real what the fuck?_ ”

Derek starts, the perfect depiction of a deer caught in the headlights, just before his face contorts and changes back into natural features and _wow_ okay- he’s kind of, good looking.

He’s so good looking Stiles would kiss him without a second thought and wow, he probably needs to worry about that later. Yeah, he’ll save that little freak out for later, he’s too busy right now because _werewolves._

“Would you believe me if I said it was a hallucination? Special effects?”

Stiles makes his best _what do you think_ face and hopes that transmits just how not funny this is right now even though it is a hundred percent completely _awesome_ because _werewolves!_

Derek makes this frowny thing with his eyebrows like he’s upset Stiles won’t be easily deceived.

“Mom is going to _kill me_ ,” he mumbles under his breath, eyes flicking down and then sideways at the burned Hale house, his face immediately going a sickly shade of white.

Stiles squints suspiciously at him, wondering if there’s an older mama bear type of werewolf that’s going to jump out of the ashes and slash his throat.

Instead of worrying about that he decides to do what he does best and start asking questions.

“So spill. Werewolf since when? Are there more of you? Can I touch your fangs? What happens to your eyebrows, where do they _go_? What are you doing at the Hale house?” Stiles fires the questions like each of them are tiny missiles.

“I live here,” Derek says and reaches a hand out, splaying it on the charred wood and shivering like he just heard a grating noise against his soul.

Stiles frowns. “No one lives here. The Hale house burned, like, seven years ago.”

Derek’s eyebrows dash down his forehead, lips pressed tight and Stiles is just waiting for him to tilt his head to the side like a confused puppy. He doesn’t, which is just upsetting for all the jokes Stiles was gearing himself to make.

“No,” Derek shakes his head twice, lips pressed firmly together. “No, I was in here two hours ago. _Everything was fine_ . It can’t have burned seven years ago and I should know because I’ve been living _here_.”

Stiles frowns down at the boy in front of him because this makes no sense and he just found out werewolves are a reality.

“What year is it?” he asks, because well. It happened to Marty McFly right? And werewolves are real so-

“Time travel isn’t real,” Derek says immediately.

Stiles huffs because _fine_ he doesn’t want to cooperate Stiles will just have to rub his point all over Derek’s face until he gets it.

“It’s July 12th of 2010.”

“It’s 2003,” Derek counters.

Stiles can feel the slow grin spreading through his lips. “ _Time traveling werewolves!_ This is the _best day_.”

“It isn’t the best day because it’s 2003, and my family is alive and this is all a stupid nightmare. Maybe I inhaled some wolfsbane or something.”

“Wolfsbane?”

“Aconite. It’s poisonous to werewolves.”

Stiles snorts. “Aconite is poisonous to everyone, dude.”

Derek glowers at him, crossing his arms over his chest – and wow okay, hello Mr. Biceps – looking like he’s three seconds away from shoving Stiles face first into the dirt and twisting his arm behind his back until Stiles says _Uncle_ and admits he’s wrong.

Stiles is torn between holding his hands up in surrender and poking the proverbial bear harder to see if he _does_ get thrown face first into the floor.

He opts for rolling his eyes and fishing his phone out of his pocket, making the screen light up and pointing out the date to Derek.

“See.”

Derek frowns. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s a phone.”

Derek frowns harder. “Where are the buttons? It’s just a _screen_.”

“It’s 2010, _dude_. Welcome to the new decade of the millennium.”

Derek looks at the phone for a couple seconds, apparently stunned, bottom lip dropped and eyes wide with something akin to fear.

“I time travelled,” he says with his breath hitching in his chest. “And my family is dead. They’re- how did- why- how could _anyone_ -“

“Whoa okay, slow down,” Stiles tries to placate and this time he does old his hands up, trying to appease him.

“They’re _dead_. My pack, how can someone- even the kids? The-“

Jesus Christ.

Stiles had known a lot of people died in the Hale house fire, but his dad had never told him the details, hadn’t even let him read the newspaper with them in it.

The Sheriff had looked at him with serious face and said, _“They were good people. Poor kids, I can’t imagine losing your entire family like that.”_ And then hugged Stiles too long and too tight.

Derek pops his fangs and because Stiles is clearly insane he reaches out and grips his shoulder, pulling him towards him. It’s about as effective as trying to move a mountain.

Derek’s breaths are coming closer and closer together and this time it looks like he’s getting angry. Stiles doesn’t know what he would do with an angry werewolf because being thrown on his face is a thing, being gutted is a completely different ball game.

So Stiles just kind of slaps him across the face a little bit, given that speaking softly has been thrown off the window.

_“Knock it off_ ,” he bellows, tries to kind of turn it into a growl because he figures that’s what Derek’s used to.

Derek stops breathing, his eyes focusing on Stiles and then he just looks _offended_ he got slapped.

“You’re in the future, right? So we just have to figure out what happened, how to send you back and you can prevent it. Right?”

«»

_Stiles is running through the woods._

_At this point the only thing that could save him would be a miracle._

«»

“Right,” Derek breathes out. “That’s- that makes sense.”

“ _Obviously_.”

Derek huffs and knocks Stiles’ hand off his shoulder. “Whatever. Just- take me to the library.”

“The library?”

“So I can use a computer.”

The boy laughs at him and Derek briefly wonders if it would be rude to knock him on his ass for it.

“ _Dude_ ,” he says like Derek is _cute_ or something. Which _he’s not_. He’s a creature of the night for fuck’s sake.

“Whatever. Are you going to take me or do I need to walk there?”

Stiles grins and Derek starts walking, bypassing him and stomping down the steps. He knows the way into town just fine and he knows the way to the library. He’ll have to figure out where he’s going to sleep. He doesn’t particularly feel like sleeping amongst the ash of his relatives but if he _has to_ , he will.

“Whoa okay, slow down. Geez! Stop angsting all over the place, what are you twelve?”

“ _Fourteen_ ,” Derek grumbles, stomping his way down the driveway and past the blue Jeep.

“Wait seriously?”

Derek spares a glare over his shoulder.

“I’ll be fifteen on Christmas, _shut up_.”

“This is _not_ how I pictured werewolves,” Stiles mutters and then, “I have a laptop at my house. A good one with fast internet and I bet the kind of stuff you need to research should be done in the privacy of a house. Besides, you need me and my google-fu techniques.”

Derek halts, turns around in a slow circle.

“Your what?”

“You know- _google-fu_ . I’m good at googling. And researching things. It’s like my _thang_.”

“You’re weird,” Derek observes, slowly walking back towards the Jeep. “My mom always told me not to get into cars with strangers.”

“Technically I’m the only person you know.”

“Technically you’re still weird.”

“And yet you’re still getting in the car with me,” Stiles says throwing open the driver’s door and peering at Derek through the window with a smirk.

Derek opens his door and settles down on the well-worn seat.

“Please, you practically begged me to come.”

“You _wish_. If anything you were the one begging me to-“

“I don’t beg, pretty boy.”

Derek expects a quick witted retort but receives smug silence instead.

“That’s twice you called me pretty, you know.”

Derek blushes and snaps his head forward. “ _What-ever_. Just drive.”

“Aww, you’re so cute when you blush,” Stiles coos. “You know, so far you’re really a disappointment as a werewolf. You haven’t gone berserk and tried to eat my heart-“

“Why would I-“

“You haven’t _howled_. You don’t even look that scary. You look kind of cuddly, actually. Are you sure you aren’t, like, a werebunny or something? With the cute little teeth and all.”

Derek slaps his hand over his mouth and looks out the window glowering. He _hates_ his teeth. Laura is always making fun of him because of them, throwing carrots at his face. It’s made worse by the fact that Derek actually loves carrots.

“Aww don’t pout,” Stiles says. “I’m sure under the right circumstances you can be quite scary.”

Derek snaps his teeth at him suddenly, smirking when Stiles’ heartbeat skips a beat and then accelerates into a semi-irregular staccato.

“That wasn’t a _dare,_ asshole. I’m driving.”

Derek smirks and leans forward to mess with the radio, something that at least looks familiar enough to him (unlike that thing Stiles had called a phone that possibly couldn’t be one because _there were no buttons)_.

He settles on a station that cheerily announces playing 70s, 80s and 90s music and settles there, listening to the familiar chords of some of his dad’s favorite songs.

“Hey I love this song,” Stiles announces and turns the volume up, proceeding to belt out a horrible rendition of _Sweet Child O’Mine._

Derek quietly hums along and hopes Stiles doesn’t notice.

«»

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Stiles proclaims, kicking his front door open and making an all-encompassing gesture. “We have cookies, but I worked hard for those cookies so I’m going to be an asshole and not give you any.”

Derek steps inside carefully, taking in a lungful of air in search for anything strange or out of place. Anything that would point out to Stiles being a hunter or something like that.

What he smells is dust, strong aftershave, the faint traces of a woman’s scent that had embedded itself into the house (the same one he could scent in the Jeep), microwaved pre-cooked meals and _gunpowder_.

“You have a gun in the house?”

A gun that was apparently in use.

Stiles turns back to him, his face spasming into something complicated when he sees Derek is still hanging by the front door.

“Yeah. My dad has a gun. He’s the Sheriff.”

Derek takes another deep breath, this time more for courage than anything else before he steps into the house, quietly closing the door behind him.

“Should I take my shoes off or something?” he asks because it’s _polite_ and his mama taught him right.

With a house as big as theirs every single adult would have a fit if the kids tracked mud or walked with dirty shoes inside because then they would have to _clean it_.

“Nah, we’re not that fancy,” Stiles dismisses with a hand, starting towards the stairs.

Derek opens his mouth to say that it’s not about being _fancy_ it’s about _hygiene_ when the back door opens and closes and heavy footsteps fall on tiles.

“There’s someone here,” he says urgently.

Stiles looks mildly panicked for a second. “Shit, my dad is home. Look, you’re not Derek Hale okay? If he asks just make something up. He worked the Hale fire case and he would not take lightly to someone who was supposed to be way older and probably dead suddenly popping up like this.”

“Um okay?” Derek says because that kind of makes sense but also _what?_

“Stiles,” a male voice calls out.

“In here!” Stiles yells back, shuffling closer to Derek and a little in front of him, like maybe his father will completely miss Derek’s presence if he stands at the right angle.

The Sheriff steps into the room, his eyes immediately honing in on Derek and squinting in suspicion.

“Who’s this?”

“Um, Dad this is, um-“

“Miguel!” Derek blurts out. “Miguel Hale, from Mexico.” He puts on his most charming smile because he’s _got this_ goddamnit. He’s good at charming the pants off of parents. Not literally though, because ew.

But the point still stands.

Parents _like_ him because he’s a _good kid_.

“Miguel,” the Sheriff says slowly. “From Mexico.”

Derek nods and takes two step forwards, offering his hand for the Sheriff to shake.

“I came to visit my family,” he says, making sure he puts a bit of an accent, just the slightest coloring of a few words. “I was planning on staying with them for a while to do school here but- we hadn’t talked in years. We didn’t know what had-” He cuts himself off and looks at the floor, pressing his lips together and trying not to throw up. Again.

It’s his family that’s buried in there and he will find out what happened and he _will_ fix it, even if it kills him.

A broad palm settles on his shoulder and squeezes. “I’m sorry for your loss, son.”

Derek swallows through the lump in his throat, feeling dirty for using his family like that.“Thank you.”

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” the Sheriff asks. When Derek shakes his head no, probably looking like a runt of an abandoned puppy, he says, “It’s settled then. You can stay with us until you go back to Mexico.”

“Oh, I couldn’t accept-“

“Nonsense. You can stay in Stiles’ room. He’ll bring the futon out from the attic since the guest room is a little,” the Sheriff’s face twists into something heartbreaking for a moment. “Cluttered,” he concludes.

“Thank you for your generosity, Sheriff.”

The Sheriff pats him on the shoulder again. “You seem like a good kid and the Hales were good people. This town isn’t the same without them. It’s really the least I could do.”

Derek nods once, trying to offer the most thankful, earnest face he can.

“Well. Stiles can show you around then, I have to get to work. Nice meeting you Miguel.”

“You too, sir.”

The Sheriff pats him on the shoulder once more before moving towards the front door, picking up his holster from the coat hanger on his way.

Well.

That was easy.

“Ohmygod!” Stiles bursts out into something that is just shy of a scream. “You! You _little_ \- how did you even- that was- what the hell? What the hell was that?”

“You said he couldn’t know I was Derek.”

“Well- yeah! But I didn’t expect you to just schmooze my father like that. Seriously what the hell?”

Derek shrugs a shoulder because it wasn’t like he did anything spectacular.

Stiles huffs and throws his arms in the air like he’s upending an invisible table in his frustration.

“I can’t believe he fell for that.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Can we go use the laptop now? I’d really like to get this _preventing the mass murder of my entire family and get back to my own time line_ thing going, please.”

Stiles sends him a frustrated glare before he starts stomping up the stairs, apparently expecting that Derek will follow.

Derek follows.

«»

“Okay so first order of business,” Stiles announces, ripping the cap off his pen with his teeth, twirling the pen a couple of times between his fingers before he starts writing.

“Did you just pull a whiteboard from your closet?”

“First order of business, Stiles’ _holy shit werewolves are a thing_ quizathon, second order of busi-“

“Where did you get a whiteboard?”

“ _Second_ order of business, find out what happened to your family so you can-“

“Why were there so many things on there about color coding wedding schemes to redheads?”

Stiles huffs and has to reign himself in before he throws the marker at Derek’s head.

“Do you even _care_ about any of this? I’m not the one who’s trying to save my family from certain doom, _pal_.”

Derek spins lazily in Stiles’ office chair. “I was just wondering if I could trust the weird kid with the murder stalker board of weddings in his closet.”

This time Stiles does throw the market at Derek’s head, getting slightly miffed when Derek catches it easily and smirks.

“It is _not_ a murder stalker board of weddings. It’s my ten year plan to woo Lydia Martin because we are obviously meant to be.”

“You just erased your ten year plan,” Derek points out.

Stiles flops a hand at him. “I have back-ups. _Anyways_ back to the subject matter at hand. You are going to tell me all about werewolfdom, then we’ll look for what happened to your family and then we try to find a way to send you back. If everything fails we’ll go to the vet because I am at least thirty percent sure Scott’s boss is a shady ass supernatural creature. Guy gives me the heebiejeebies.”

Derek frowns. “Shouldn’t we be looking into what happened to my family first?”

Stiles jots down _Impressive eyebrow game_ right under _Flashing eyes ‘n fangs_ in his list of things he knows about werewolves.

“Well, your entire family were werewolves right? So obviously I need to know more about werewolves in case it’s related to everything that happened to your family.”

Derek’s eyebrow ticks up. “ _Obviously_ ,” he drawls, not sounding very impressed with Stiles which is _whatever_. Stiles is used to people not being impressed by him anyway. Disappointed? Sure. Annoyed? Definitely. Frustrated? Most assuredly. Impressed? Not really, no.

“Don’t be like that, you literally have all the time in the world.”

Derek presses his lips into a thinner line and his eyes dash down angrily.

Stiles decides that distracting him will be the best strategy so he just takes a deep breath and, “How long have you been a werewolf? How fast is your metabolism? How do you pass on the werewolf genes? Do you have a diet like us or do you have to eat Bambi or do you munch on human hearts because dude if you do munch on human hearts _not cool._ Do you have a knot? Do you go into heat? Exactly how stronger than a normal human are you? Could you lift a truck? Could you lift _me_? Could you-“

Derek slaps a hand over his mouth. “Stop talking. Yes, I could definitely lift you. I can’t even remember the other questions, you were talking so fast. If you slow down I’ll answer them and we can move on to my family okay?”

Stiles licks Derek’s palm in an attempt to make him let go, but Derek proves to be a hero among men, or maybe just have younger siblings because he doesn’t even flinch, just stares Stiles down and presses his palm harder against his lips.

Stiles blows a raspberry into it as revenge before nodding.

“Prove it,” he says as soon as Derek’s hand isn’t covering his mouth.

“What?”

“You said you could lift me so prove it. Also can you do it one armed? I need to know for science.”

Derek frowns at him but then shrugs and stands up.

“I can try,” he offers.

And that’s how Stiles finds himself literally sitting on Derek Hale’s bicep as he holds him up like Derek is Popeye and Stiles is Olivia.

He must say it’s equal parts _awesome_ , emasculating and arousing.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Stiles breathes out, groping Derek’s shoulder because whoa but also _whoa alright hello there_.

Derek is just standing there looking smug and flexing. Stiles can tell he’s doing it because he can feel it on his butt.

“So,” Stiles says because he’s honestly curious. “Do you have a knot or not?”

Derek chokes on his own saliva and drops him.

«»

“Stiles, let it go,” Derek huffs for the tenth time and by the level of irritation in his voice anyone would say he’s known Stiles for five years instead of five hot minutes.

“ _But._ Where do they _go?”_

“Ohmygod, they’re just eyebrows, they don’t _go_ anywhere. What do you think happens?”

“I don’t know! Do you, like, keep them in your pocket or something?”

Derek flops backwards on the mattress and groans like a man about to commit mass murder.

“It’s a valid question.”

“Can we please focus?”

“We are focusing.”

“On something that’s not my eyebrows?”

“Ugh fine. But this could be important! For science!”

“Maybe you need a break,” Derek mutters and hops to his feet. “Mind if I use your kitchen?”

Stiles shrugs and waves him off, looking over at his white board full of new information about werewolves. Later, he’ll have to google all of this shiz and see what’s going on, but for now he must figure out the great mystery.

_Where do the eyebrows go?_ That’s just so much eyebrow to lose. Stiles is honestly concerned.

Derek comes back with a two coffee mugs and a little dish with cookies stacked in the shape of a little flower.

“You brought me food?”

“If it’ll distract you from my eyebrows.”

Stiles grins at him and grabs three cookies, shoving them all in his mouth at once. “Consider me distracted.”

Derek scrunches up his face in disgust and makes a show of wiping his shirt off like Stiles had just spewed crumbs all over him. Which, _rude_ .  Stiles was a master in talking with his mouth full _thankyouverymuch_.

“So what’s next?” he asks, sitting beside Stiles and squinting at the laptop screen settled on the other boy’s lap.

“Now we do some research.”

«»

Accidental fire, the reports say. Faulty wiring. Suspected arson but overruled by the fire investigators.

“They would’ve gotten out,” Derek shakes his head. “There’s no way they wouldn’t have smelled it and gotten out.”

“What if they couldn’t? Isn’t there anything that, like, stops werewolves? Silver?”

Derek frowns. “Maybe mountain ash. We can’t cross over a line of mountain ash.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “The supernatural is so weird. Like, yeah you can probably rip me apart but if I have this random ass piece of wood I can whack you over the head and call it a night? Like who decided this?"

“ _Stiles_.”

“Ugh, I’m focusing. I’m just _saying_ -“

“Stiles, shut up.”

«»

“Can you see in the dark?” Stiles whispers, as loudly as he dares because his father is asleep and, well, this feels like a sleepover. You _whisper_ at sleepovers, those are the rules.

“Yeah, but not that well.”

“Cool.” Stiles twists in his bed until he’s facing the floor where Derek is on a futon they pulled from the attic. He keeps sneezing because of the dust. It’s kind of hilarious but also getting annoying.

Also, Derek sneezes like a kitten and it’s _the best thing_.

“Hey Derek,” Stiles calls, letting his arm dangle from the side of the bed and whacking Derek in the face with it only half accidentally.

“What.”

“Why did you chose Miguel? As your fake name, I mean.”

There’s a pause, Derek obviously struggling with the answer.

Stiles whacks him in the face again as encouragement.

“Is it the name of your crush?” he teases. “A hot Spanish actor from a soap opera that you secretly love? A-“

“De Cervantes,” Derek blurts out. “Miguel de Cervantes. He wrote Don Quixote. It’s the book I’m reading so- it was kind of the first thing that came to my head.”

Stiles takes a minute to digest that because- because it’s really fucking nerdy. And also impressive. Stiles has seen the book and it is _massive_. The kind of big that gives any reader stage fright.

“Wow. You’re a dork.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Derek growls.

“No, this is the greatest thing I’ve ever heard! You’re actually a major dork. You’re a _nerd_.” He feels like giggling. His arm flails out a little and he almost whacks Derek in the face.

This time Derek catches him by the wrist and bites on the side of his hand before letting go again.

“You’re a bitey dork,” Stiles says gleefully. “That’s so _cool_.”

“What?” Derek asks, batting Stiles’ hand away when it starts inching towards him.

“Its cool. You’re a nerd, this is the best thing. I was here thinking you were that smug jock type but no, you’re the smug jock that’s secretly a cuddly nerd.”

“I am _not_ cuddly.”

“Dude, you are _so cuddly_. I could cuddle you right now, you’re the exact cuddle shape.”

“That doesn’t even make sense. Go to sleep.”

Stiles turns to his pillow and giggles into it, just a little bit.

It’s a hot night and it takes Stiles a while to fall asleep. He’s restless with the warmth saturating the air and with the giddiness of this new _thing_. Werewolves and time travel.

How cool is all of this! He’s not sure if he’ll be able to fall asleep.

“Hey Stiles,” Derek mutters, after tossing and turning and kicking his blankets off of him.

“What.”

“Do you think- do you think we’ll really be able to find out what happened to my family? We didn’t find that much on the internet and-“

“Yeah. Of course we are,” he reassures, scooting closer to the edge of his bed so he can peer down at Derek. “If we can’t find anything in the old newspapers I’ll break into the police station and steal the case files.”

“ _That’s illegal_ ,” Derek says, sounding frankly scandalized Stiles would do something like that and it is _adorable_. Really, Stiles could pinch his cheeks right now.

“You’re so cute thinking I care. My dad is the Sheriff, the most I’ll get is a slap on the wrist.”

Derek’s eyes flare yellow, the only light in the room save for a few stray moonbeams filtering through the blinds.

“I don’t like this,” Derek informs him. “And you’re still weird.”

“Says the _werewolf_ ,” Stiles laughs, and gets a growl in return.

He’s not too concerned about it. He’s almost a hundred percent positive that Derek wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s probably the type of kid who picks up spiders and puts them outside instead of murdering the fuckers with the Fall edition of Vogue.

“I’m not _weird_.”

“Whatever you say, Cervantes.”

“Your pronunciation is terrible.”

“So is your attitude, now go to sleep.”

“ _Ugh_ , you suck, goodnight.”

“Night, Cervantes.”

“I hate you,” Derek whispers and turns his back to Stiles.

Joke’s on him because now Stiles has a perfect view of the booty.

«»

Derek is startled awake in the middle of the night by a heavy body falling on him.

He snaps his eyes open, sure that they are shining bright yellow and ready to _fight_ when he realizes Stiles fell off the bed onto him.

And that Stiles is still sleeping apparently, steadily breathing slow and easy, making little smacking noises with his lips and mumbling unintelligible nonsense under his breath every so often.

“Ohhhhh-kay,” Derek whispers, torn as to what to do. He’s not sure how Stiles would feel about waking up next to another boy and he _really_ doesn’t want to get yelled at or called nasty things.

Maybe he should get on the bed. Yeah, that’s a good idea.

Derek tries to wiggle out from under Stiles. He only gets halfway free before Stiles rolls closer and throws an arm over him, clutching with a vice-like  grip. It was like  a giant octopus trying to bring down a ship.

“Guess I’m staying put then.” Derek resigns himself to his fate, settling back down and wiggling until he’s comfortable, briefly reflecting on how his life is just _weird_.

«»

Stiles wakes up half on top of Derek with the other boy’s open mouth pressed against his collarbone and a very awkward situation in his downstairs department, by which he means he has a boner.

He rolls his eyes heavenwards and wonders how he ended up here and what he did to deserve such a terrible fate.

He lifts himself up and thankfully Derek lets him go, the arm that had been loosely curled around one of Stiles’ falling away easily.

“Hmm, s’ell p’ty,” Derek mumbles, rolling onto his stomach and snuffling into the pillow, which is definitely adorable.

Stiles has to get his Frisbee to test if Derek will start wiggling with excitement before he throws it.

But first, he needs a shower, where he can jack off because he loves himself too much to shower in frigid water.


	2. what you've become

It’s the second week of Derek being in the future and things are- well, not absolutely  _ despairing _ . So that’s a start.

They filled a white board with all the information they had and it’s a lot, enough for them to know that someone bribed the insurance inspector and that Stiles’ chemistry teacher lied to the police.

There’s also a crude drawing of a necklace that is probably crucial for the whole thing.

From what Derek understands some woman, a hunter, an  _ Argent _ , managed to burn his house down with all of his family inside during the Wolf moon, right when everyone lost their powers.

He still can’t understand how she got into the house, how she got past the protective runes their mysterious emissary supposedly drew around the house.

The only thing that makes sense would be someone on the inside having let her in and he can’t imagine that. They love each other, they’re family. More than that, they are  _ pack _ and you don’t harm pack like that.

“Are you angsting again?” Stiles asks, bumping shoulders with him.

“I don’t angst.”

“Whatever you say, Cervantes.”

Derek sighs, long-suffering, and focuses his attention back on the laptop.

They know that not everyone died in the fire.

Uncle Peter didn’t. He’s in the long term care unit at the hospital in a vegetative state almost. Catatonic.

Seeing him like that, lying on that bed with half his face lost to fire was-

Derek can’t quite describe how helpless and crushing it is to see one of the strongest people you know, one of the most independent people you know reduced to something like that.

Derek’s not dead either, apparently. Neither is Laura which is a relief, he thinks.

He doesn’t know what he would do if he was suddenly alone in the world without his pack. He doesn’t think he would  _ stay _ in this world for long if that happened, and isn’t that a scary thought to have.

“Here she is!” Stiles crows. “I can tell because of the eyebrows.”

Derek pushes him off and peers into the screen, looking at his sister’s Facebook page.

She’s smiling, eyes squinting at the corners with it and hair shorter than he ever remembers it being but still smiling.

His heart thuds in his chest and he clicks the next picture where Laura has an arm thrown over a man. She’s smiling, this time fond and the man-

“Is that you?” Stiles squints at the screen and then grabs Derek’s chin and turns his face towards him, eyes intent on his features as if he’ll find the meaning of life this way.

Derek’s heart stutters in his chest.

“Um?”

“Holy shit that  _ is _ you.” He shakes his head like he’s disappointed. “How can someone win the puberty lottery  _ twice _ , I swear it’s unfair, man.”

“What?”

“You’re kinda scowl-y though.”

“You think I won the puberty lottery?”

Stiles turns and blinks at him then his face spasms in such a dramatic way you’d think Derek just tried to convince him the earth was flat.

“Are you kidding me?”

Derek ducks his head and looks away, berating himself because of course not, of course the cute boy that smells like thunderstorms doesn’t like him or think he’s cute because what was he-

“Like, you own mirrors, right?” Stiles squints like he thinks Derek might  _ not _ own mirrors. “What’s this? Are you fishing for compliments? You know how you look, dude. You don’t need me to tell you that. I bet all the boys and girls pant after you at school.”

Derek opens his mouth, closes it again; clears his throat awkwardly and looks away.

“ _ Ohmygod _ ,” Stiles whispers dramatically, dropping his head to the back of the couch. “I can’t decide if this is tragic or adorable.”

Derek huffs. “It’s easy for you to say with the way you look,” he mutters because this is not fair and Derek hates when he can feel his ears heat up in embarrassment like this.

Stiles laughs, a derisive, self-deprecating little thing that makes Derek want to shove him in front of a mirror and point out every little perfect thing about him.

This past week has been- weird. Enlightening too.  _ Stressful _ .

It’s not like Derek is new to noticing boys because he  _ isn’t _ . He’s been noticing boys since he was little and couldn’t really understand why he  _ couldn’t _ marry another boy, especially when he saw Uncle Peter kissing other boys and his Aunt Lyris live with another woman.

His family had said that sometimes humans were complicated that way, that they liked to put restrictions on love because of some book or something.

Growing up, he learned it was a little bit more difficult than that.

So, no. He wasn’t new to noticing boys, but he was maybe new to-  _ liking _ boys. Derek doesn’t think he’s ever had the overwhelming urge to kiss someone, not until now, and sure in kindergarten and middle school he liked to play, claim this one or that one was his boyfriend or girlfriend and hold hands during recess only for them to break up two days later because the teacher moved their desks and their relationship could never survive this great divide.

And here’s Stiles who’s  _ perfect _ if he’s ever seen anyone who is. Just the right kind of humor, the gorgeous brown eyes, the long column of throat that is like a siren’s song to Derek and the pretty, always-open lips. The broad shoulders and the forearms and the  _ hands and the hips _ .

And the way he laughs, the way he has a sharp tongue and sharper wit but is so overwhelmingly caring to his father and that friend he talks to on the phone that Derek hardly knows what to do with himself.

It’s just not fair. Because in reality he’s five years older than Stiles. In reality he should never be here, ahead in time, trying to figure out why he’s here and what happened to his family.

It feels a bit like a betrayal, noticing Stiles like this when his family is  _ dead _ when he’s supposed to be doing something about it but can’t really with his limited resources and general cluelessness.

“I don’t know if this is tragic or adorable,” Derek throws back because Stiles is beautiful and it’s honestly flabbergasting that he can’t see it. “Do you own any mirrors?”

“Okay, stop th-“

“It’s like you can’t see how pretty you look,” he steamrolls on and he knows, okay he  _ knows _ , that by the end of this his ears will be red like a flushed lobster but Stiles needs to know. “Or can see how strong your shoulders and forearms look, or how appealing your shoulder to hip ratio is or-“

Stiles slaps a hand over his mouth so hastily he manages to topple the laptop off his lap and almost send Derek falling backwards onto the floor.

“Okay, okay I get it, you think I’m pretty, now  _ shut up _ ,” Stiles urges, a flush on his cheeks that trickles all the way down his chest and into the dip of his t-shirt.

Derek bites down on his hand, startling a yelp out of Stiles and getting his hand off his mouth.

“I think you’re really pretty.”

“Your face is pretty,” Stiles mutters, rubbing a thumb over his palm with tiny little white teeth idents.

“So you’ve said.”

Stiles shoves him and Derek flexes just enough that he won’t move an inch.

“Ugh, you’re such a dick.”

“A pretty dick, apparently.”

Stiles throws an arm around his neck and roughly scrubs his knuckles over Derek’s hair. Derek would probably tap out except Laura is his oldest sister and he has been getting noogies twice as painful since he was five. By now he’s an artist in twisting himself out of a headlock and wrestling the person accosting him to the ground. He does so easily, taking that little bit of extra care to make sure he doesn’t hurt Stiles.

Which is how Derek ends up with Stiles pinned down on the living room’s carpeted floor, his wrists in one hand and straddling his stomach while he grins smugly down at him.

“Say Uncle,” he demands.

Stiles wiggles underneath him and Derek raises up to his knees because okay, alright, he doesn’t need any of that touching him right now because he’s young and seriously how is there such a thing as sexy wiggling?

Wiggling should never  _ ever _ be sexy.  _ Worms _ wiggle.

“Never,” Stiles bites out, straining against the grip Derek has on him, grunting and then effectively kneeing Derek’s backside which makes him topple over and scramble to get his hands beneath him so he doesn’t fall face first on Stiles.

“Well, hi there,” Stiles mutters, chin tilted up so he’s eye level with Derek.

Derek blinks, the painful realization that he’s scant inches away from Stiles, hovering over him, hitting him hard and fast and making most of his blood rush south.

“Um,” he breathes out, blinking down at Stiles like this is a bad anime romance and he just fell face first on some girl’s boobs and now isn’t quite sure what to do.

What’s the correct protocol here?

Get off Stiles seems like the right course of action, but it’s not like Stiles is shoving him off and Derek doesn’t really see a way of getting up with his dignity still intact and his boner undetected.

Stiles’ eyes trip down to his lips and back up and Derek’s helpless to do anything but mimic the motion.

The front door slamming open startles both of them, making them jerk and bash their foreheads together before they’re scrambling to each sit on the floor at a respectable distance from each other, flush high on their cheeks and looking like they were just caught with their entire heads in the cookie jar.

The Sheriff’s heavy steps on the hardwood floor announce his arrival as he makes his way towards the living room.

He stops when he sees them both on the floor, looking at everything but at each other, a couple of the throw pillows strewn around the place.

“Boys,” he says carefully.

“Dad.”

“Sheriff.”

He stares at them for a couple of seconds, eyes squinting slightly in suspicious, eyebrows dashing down and mouth titling in such a way that he looks like he’s on the cusp of an epiphany.

“Why don’t you clean up around here? I’m going to start dinner. We’re going to eat and then we’re going to have a conversation.”

Stiles scrubs the back of his neck.

“A conversation?”

The tilt of the Sheriff’s mouth becomes knowing.

“A conversation. A  _ talk _ , you could say.”

“Oh crap.”

“Oh crap indeed, son.”

Stiles looks wide-eyed at Derek for a moment. Panic passed between them because it was not like they were doing anything but when an authority figure tells you they want to have a talk with you, you better  brace yourself because it’s probably going to be important and awkward for both parties.

«»

Derek has to stand there, spaghetti hanging half off his mouth as the Sheriff starts his talk.

_ The Talk _ , to be more precise.

The Boys and Sex talk, including how Stiles needs to have his bedroom door open at all times while  _ Miguel _ stays with them.

Needless to say that Derek chokes on his spaghetti and Stiles slides so far down his chair he’s practically under the table.

«»

_ Stiles is running through the woods and he can’t believe he’s made it this far. _

_ “Just a little bit more, I can see it,” he urges. _

_ It’s right there. Right  _ there _. _

_ The Nemeton, the only magical thing Stiles knows that is powerful enough to grant them a miracle. Just this  _ one thing _. After all the bad hands it has dealt them they deserve this one thing. _

_ Derek starts slipping off his shoulder and they’re so close. _

_ “Stiles, I- I-“ _

_ “No shut up.  _ Shut up _. We’re almost there and you’re not- you’re-“ _

«»

Stiles jolts upright in his bed, the strange weight of another body pressing down across his shoulders like a phantom feeling.

He hates this, hates having these dreams that leave him lost and feeling helpless, hates that they feel so real when they happen, as if he had gone through them first hand, as if they were a memory and not dreams, however cliché that sounds.

“Hey Derek,” he whispers, still shaken that  _ he _ had been it, that Derek had been the weight across his shoulders, dragging him down, breath stuttering and coughing in his chest like it was filled with blood.

Stiles rolls onto his side so he can peer down at Derek.

“Derek,” he stage whispers a little louder, reaches over to bat him on the shoulder.

Derek blinks his eyes open with a snort.

“Are you awake?”

Derek snuffles a breath and his eyes start falling closed again.

Stiles bats him on the shoulder.

“Derek, come on. I have something I need to talk to you about. I had this dream-“

Warm fingers grasp Stiles’ dangling hand and pull him down, making Stiles fall off his bed and into the futon with a squeak.

“What are you-“ Stiles tries but is cut off by Derek shoving his face into his neck and cuddling him into his chest.

“There, there,” Derek mutters sleepily, petting his hair with a heavy hand.

“Okay,” Stiles mumbles against the slightly clammy skin of Derek’s neck. “This is happening.”

“There, there,” he says again with the kind of conviction that leads Stiles to believe everything will be okay which his stupid because Derek’s saying it half asleep and not entirely aware.

Stiles resigns himself to his fate of being aggressively cuddled and decides that the morning is as good a time as any to reveal sudden epiphanies.

«»

_ Stiles is running through the woods, praying for a miracle. _

_ He gets a tragedy. _

«»

“I think we should go to the evil tree of evil,” Stiles announces over toast at the breakfast table.

Derek blinks over at him, glass of orange juice halfway to his mouth.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says slowly because, well, the tree is obviously  _ evil _ and he doesn’t trust Stiles around it, especially after what he felt when he  _ time travelled. _

How deeply rotting and foul the land has gotten. He knows that nothing that comes from it will end well.

“Look,” Stiles says in the kind of tone that leaves no space for argument. “I’ve been having these  _ dreams _ or whatever and what I see is exactly what you described.”

“Stiles, I still don’t-“

“You’re with me in them.”

“Still it can be just a-“

“You’re dying.”

That gives Derek pause.

He feels like he needs two whole pauses. One to get over the shock and another to  _ pray _ that it’s nothing weird, that they’re just dreams and not strange premonitions.

He takes a deep breath and braces himself.

“What happens?”

Stiles presses his lips together, puts his toast back down on his plate and rubs the tips of his fingers together to get rid of the crumbs.

“We’re running through the woods, something-  _ ancient _ . Evil,” he grimaces at himself. “It’s massive and we’re trying to run away except there’s nowhere to go and we can’t outrun it. I’m carrying you because you’re hurt and you- you keep telling me to leave you behind and run.”

Derek nods because yes, if there’s something chasing them he would want for Stiles to leave him there for death. He might even be enough to give Stiles a few precious minutes of advantage over the  _ thing, _ whatever the thing is.

“Stop nodding, jackass. I’m not letting you die. Ugh, you and your martyr complex.”

“I don’t have a martyr complex.”

Stiles frowns and looks down at his plate.

“Not yet. I think you might in the future. Maybe the you that is living in New York with his sister Laura has a martyr complex, maybe that’s  _ his  _ future.”

“But I’m going to change it,” Derek argues because he  _ will _ . He won’t let his family die horrifically in that house fire, he won’t. He won’t do that to Laura or Uncle Peter. It’s his responsibility to fix it.

Stiles does something complicated with his face.

“That’s the thing. I think right now we are split between two futures. Both of them can happen. The one where you and me are chased in the woods and one where we aren’t.”

“You think the us that were chased in the woods have something to do with me being here?” Derek says slowly.

“Yes,” Stiles says slowly, wiggling uncomfortably in his seat.

“Stiles, what happens? How does the dream end?”

Stiles sighs and looks away, eyes going distant for a while.

“We die,” he whispers.

«»

_ Stiles is running through the woods and he’s running out of time. _

_ “Just a little bit more,” he begs. _

_ “I can’t,” Derek manages to cough out and they are so close. So horribly, tantalizingly close. _

_ “A couple more steps, come on you can see it, can’t you?” Stiles tries and why,  _ why _ did Derek have to come back? He was doing so well away from Beacon Hills and this entire mess only to jump back in it over one phone call. _

_ Stiles hates his life and right now he hates Scott a little bit too for calling Derek back, for what’s happened, what  _ is _ happening: both of them running through the woods escaping a beast, Derek with a hand pressed to his right pectoral where it had pierced him, where he’s probably drowning in his own blood. _

_ They make it to the Nemeton by the work of some higher entity that doesn’t think their lives are a total waste of oxygen or maybe by an entity that likes to play with them, to see how many times it can spin them around before their heads spin clean off their bodies. _

_ It’s like a cosmic joke. _

_ They make it but they don’t. _

_ They are barely in touching distance when Derek’s body completely gives out under him, toppling forward and slumping against the giant tree stump. _

_ “Derek,” Stiles half shouts, frantic, turning him over, a horrible sense of déjà vu befalling him. _

_ Here’s Derek slumped over something with blood on the corner of his mouth, barely able to talk. _

_ Stiles cradles his cheek and presses a hand to the gashes in his chest. _

_ “Derek,” he begs. “Come on. Come  _ on _ , we had a deal remember. You don’t let go and I don’t let go.” _

_ Derek’s blinks slowly and he doesn’t look frantic anymore, he looks at peace. Like death is so close that he can touch it with the tips of his finger. _

_ The thing roars loud and menacing and way too close.  _

_ “St- S-“ _

_ “It’s okay, I know just shut up for a second. I’ll figure this out, we’ll be fine,” he lies. “We’ll be fine.” _

_ Even as he knows they won’t be because what does he have? _

_ A dying werewolf, a magic tree stump, an excuse of a spark running through his veins, something so old and evil that it could not be vanquished and a swiss knife. _

_ Stiles stops for a fraction of a second and the first thing he thinks is  _ fuck this is going to hurt _. _

_ He knows what he has to do. He has a swiss knife and a magic tree stump that’s activated with sacrifices. _

_ Well, he has two sacrifices right here and that’s enough to make himself a miracle. _

_ He takes the swiss knife off his pocket and flips it open. _

_ Derek’s hand shoots out to grip his wrist, even though gripping is a kind term. It’s more of a loose flap of his hand on top of Stiles’ wrist. _

_ Stiles lifts his eyes, blade pressed against the inside of his wrist. _

_ Derek looks at him with bright eyes, the corners slightly crinkled in confusion before they clear and he nods in permission. _

_ Hand tightening just a fraction around Stiles’ wrist, mouth opening around a soundless letter. _

 

_ _

Art by dreaminpng [[livejournal](http://dreaminpng.livejournal.com/3705.html) | [tumblr](http://dreaminpng.tumblr.com/post/146653613107/art-for-crossroadwrites-fic-ill-be-home-for-next)]

 

_ “I know,” Stiles reassures because he does, he’s known for a while, since that night in Mexico. “I know. Me too,” he confesses and presses his lips briefly to Derek’s forehead, lingering as long as he dares. _

_ Their first kiss and Stiles has to laugh because this is some Shakespearean tragedy shit right here. _

_ He takes a deep breath and looks down at where his hand is gripping the knife. Time to make a miracle, he guesses. _

«»

“Don’t cry,” Stiles begs because if Derek starts crying then  _ he’ll _ start crying.

“’M not,” Derek argues, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.

“It’s not that bad.”

Derek looks at him like he’s insane.

“We’ve got a chance to make it right. If you’re here it’s to gain knowledge of the future so you can go back and make your family live, right? Then nothing will happen, a brand new future for everyone.”

“No pressure or anything,” Derek mutters.

Stiles lets out this short little laugh. “No pressure.”

«»

Derek tries to convince him not to go, but Stiles insists because maybe there’s something there they can use. Maybe sending Derek back home will be as simple as touching the thing again, which Derek doesn’t particularly feel like doing because that thing feeds off of sacrifices.

Stiles shrugs and waves the baseball bat he dragged with him at Derek.

“I can protect myself.”

Derek just barely resists the urge to groan and facepalm.

“You’re going to get yourself killed. What are you going to do next? Say something like ‘ _ oh what’s the worst that- _ “

Stiles slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Are you insane? Don’t say that, you’re going to doom us all.”

Derek rolls his eyes and bats Stiles’ hand away, leading him towards the forbidden tree of creepiness, time travel and death.

It’s a beautiful afternoon, the sun shining high and proud in the sky and the woods smelling rich and warm, overbaked and oversaturated with the heat.

“If this was a TV show it would probably be thundering right now. For  _ suspense _ ,” Stiles observes, dropping the tip of his bat on the ground and letting it drag behind him, making a curving trail.

“If this was a TV show something would probably come hurtling out of the woods to jumpscare us. And there would be a love interest.”

“I think you’re both the jumpscare and the love interest.”

Derek playfully snaps his teeth at him. “If I’m the love interest does that make you the main character? Are you love interested in me?”

“I could be,” Stiles concedes. “Future Me seemed pretty invested in Future You.”

“And how invested is Present You in Past Me?”

“A healthy amount of invested. I’ll probably cry when you’re gone.”

Derek bumps their shoulders. “Don’t be a dick.”

“I’m not, there will be honest-to-god tears. You know, before I dissolve into nothingness to give way to the brighter future you create.”

“What?” Derek trips, startled.

“Yeah dude, that is like, basic time travel stuff. What did you think would happen?”

“I don’t-“

Stiles shrugs and smiles like everything is right with the world.

“It’s not like you’re going to kill me, I’ll just be a slightly different version of myself,” he argues, swinging his bat back to hang over his shoulder. “Hey, you know what you should do? Pay a visit to mini-me. Maybe beat up a bully or two.”

Derek makes a face because that’s going to be weird. He  _ likes  _ this boy, seeing him as a nine year old is  _ not  _ going on the pile of fun things Derek will have to do when he gets back.

Stiles stops them in their tracks and takes a Sharpie out of his back pocket – Derek is not going to ask why he has one because the answer is probably to draw on bathroom stalls – and reaching for Derek’s hand, making a little  _ give it here _ motion with his fingers that manages to be too appealing.

Derek offers his hand and Stiles grips his wrist, uncapping the pen with his mouth and marking an X on the back of it.

 

Art by dreaminpng [[livejournal ](http://dreaminpng.livejournal.com/3705.html)| [tumblr](http://dreaminpng.tumblr.com/post/146653613107/art-for-crossroadwrites-fic-ill-be-home-for-next)]

 

“There, so you don’t forget to beat up the bullies for little Stiles,” he says proudly like he just drew a masterpiece on the back of Derek’s hand instead of a slightly crooked X.

Derek rolls his eyes at him, laughing a little. “You’re going to grow up thinking I’m a superhero,” he says. “I’m going to influence your young moldable mind.”

“Mightier men have tried and failed, Derek Hale.”

Derek snorts, putting a hand on the small of Stiles’ back to steer him through the last cluster of trees before they reach the Nemeton.

They’re close when Derek’s hearing picks up heavy footsteps on the ground. His hand shoots out and he grabs Stiles by the wrist, making him come to a stop.

“There’s someone in there,” he mutters, moving in front of Stiles and walking carefully towards the Nemeton.

It isn’t anyone he knows and it isn’t  _ anything _ he recognizes, not by smell. If the person who is there has any type of scent it blends perfectly with the scent of the forest around them.

There’s a man pressing a hand down to the rough bark, a leather jacket over his shoulders as he studies the dead tree stump.

“Is that Deaton?” Stiles asks.

The man turns, eyes zeroing in on them with scarily accurate precision given that they’re not entirely visible yet.

Stiles slaps his arm. “ _ Told you so _ .”

“Great, good on you. Can we trust him?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“Mr. Stilinski, would you mind stepping forward? I’d rather have this conversation without having to shout the words,” Dr. Deaton calls out.

Derek looks over at Stiles, wholly uncertain if this is a good idea or if there’s a chance of both of them ending up dead.

“I know a way to send Mr. Hale home,” Deaton calls out once more.

Stiles’ eyes dart to where the man is still standing next to the Nemeton and then back at Derek, shrugging in a way that translates into something like  _ if it’s blows up in our faces it blows up in our faces, let’s do it _ .

Derek takes a deep breath, letting his claws lengthen  _ just in case _ and keeping Stiles behind them as they walk towards the Doctor.

“I see you’ve been dabbling in magic, Mr. Stilinski,” the Doctor says, just a pinch of censure in his otherwise flat tone.

“This wasn’t me!” Stiles defends. “Well, it kind of was me, but not Now Me and I am  _ not _ taking the blame for what Future Me did.”

Doctor Deaton lifts his eyebrow a fraction of an inch.

“I see,” he says slowly. “And do you know why the future version of yourself would do something like that?”

Stiles winces, waves his bat around in a vague way.

“Ancient beast of darkness, despair and death.”

Dr. Deaton nods once, turning to look briefly at the Nemeton.

“Sacrificial magic is very dangerous,” he starts. “Even more dangerous when it causes ripples in the balance of things.”

“Like me coming into the future?” Derek prompts, receiving a nod.

“Like that. It is my job to keep the balance. You understand that I have to send Derek back to his own timeline, correct?”

Stiles and Derek exchange a look because yeah, they were kind of hoping that would happen, that there would be a easy way to send Derek back, but they weren’t prepared for the easy way to just fall on their laps so suddenly.

“You mean right now?” Derek asks.

He’s conflicted and he shouldn’t be. On one hand he knows he needs to go to his family, knows he needs to save them but on the other-

He looks at Stiles.

Stiles looks shaken, he looks like he was slapped in the face and it didn’t so much hurt as startle the hell out of him.

“As soon as possible,” Dr. Deaton confirms. “You shouldn’t have stayed this long to begin with. The ripples your presence has caused can affect the balance in unexpected ways.”

“But- how are you going to do it? Are you even  _ qualified _ to do something like this? And why should we trust you in the first place?” Stiles shoots quickly, raising his chin and half glaring at the man in front of them.

“I am the Hale pack’s emissary. Talia Hale trusted me with the safety of her pack and her family-“

“Great job you did there, buddy. I must congratulate you on your stellar performance protecting the Hales.”

Dr. Deaton’s eyes become steely in a way that makes Derek want to grab Stiles and push him behind his back, drop fangs and claws and roar. He has that aura of subtle danger that sends shivers down your spine.

“There are some things not even I could have protected them from,” he says, eyes shifting to Derek and pouring over him intensely and all Derek can think is  _ what did I do? _

“That’s a non-answer,” Stiles argues.

“I wasn’t aware that you had asked me a question, Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles takes a step forward and Derek holds him by the wrist pulls him back.

“Can you give us a minute?” Derek asks.

Dr. Deaton nods slowly, stepping away to give them at least the illusion of privacy.

“You can’t be seriously considering this, Derek,” Stiles hisses.

“He might be able to get me back to my family. I need to prevent what happens, Stiles.”

“ _ He _ was supposed to prevent it from happening. Are you really going to trust the person-“

“He was my mom’s emissary. If he wasn’t good at what he did my mom would never have picked him.”

“What if he was lying?”

Derek shakes his head once. “His heartbeat was steady. He wasn’t lying.”

“Or maybe it was steady because he’s a sociopath who’s going to blow your werewolf ass to smithereens.”

Derek smiles, “You have an unhealthy obsession with my ass, you know that.”

“Well, it’s a great ass,” Stiles says heatedly, still upset.

Derek trails his fingers up Stiles’ inner forearm and wraps his hand around Stiles’ elbow. “Stiles, I need to do this. We have no idea what we’re doing or how to figure out what we’re supposed to do.  _ He _ knows what he’s doing.”

Stiles clenches his teeth. “I still don’t like it. What if you get hurt?”

“What if my entire family burns? What if I’m too late getting back and it changes nothing?”

Stiles deflates. “ _ I still don’t like this _ .”

“I know,” Derek soothes. “But it’s not like I’ll never see you again. I know who you are, I’ll even beat up a couple of bullies for you.”

“My hero,” Stiles says flatly, dropping his chin.

Derek nudges it upward. “Hey,” he says as soft as he dares. “I’ll miss you.”

Stiles shuffles a step forward and throws his arms around Derek’s neck, pressing them together chest to chest in a tight hug.

“I’ll miss you too,” he whispers against his cheek, lips trailing over his cheek in a facsimile of a kiss.

They stand together like that, hugging and breathing each other in, before Dr. Deaton clears his throat pointedly and they’re forced to step apart.

“We’re trusting you,” he tells Deaton seriously.

The man nods and steps closer to the Nemeton, taking out a pocket knife and a couple of vials with  _ things _ inside.

“Mr. Hale, would you care to step forward and put your hand on the Nemeton?”

Derek steps forward carefully, places his hand against the bark, fingers splayed as far as he can.

He looks back at Stiles and smiles. “See you in a bit,” he promises as Dr. Deaton starts doing something that Stiles should probably be paying attention to, but he can’t take his eyes off of Derek. Is physically incapable of doing it and it’s then that he realizes he’s so  _ fucked _ . So gone on him and now it’s too late because when isn’t it too late?

A strong gust of wind blows suddenly through the trees, sweeping leaves into the air and forcing Stiles to close his eyes.

When he opens them again, Derek is gone.


	3. and what you'll do when i'm gone

Stiles stares at the space where Derek had been for a long time before he can make himself move.

“What now?” he asks, feeling suddenly, overwhelmingly tired, like he needs to take a thirty-hour nap.

“Now we both go back to our normal lives, Mr. Stilinski, and let the future take the course it was meant from the start.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Stiles just saw the boy he like _ liked _ disappear in front of his eyes with no chance to see him again as he is, that makes him take so long to fully process what Deaton had just said.

“ _ No _ . That’s- he’s going back to save his family, the future will be changed. You can’t convince me that an entire houseful of people living doesn’t-“ 

Doctor Deaton’s face remains calm and unshakable and  _ no _ .

“What did you do?” Stiles demands. “What did you fucking-“

“I know you probably won’t understand, but my job is to keep the balance between the human world and the supernatural, the good and the bad.”

“You didn’t-“

“Changing such a linchpin of an event could-“

“You let them die. You- I thought you  _ vowed  _ to protect them!”

“My oath to keep the balance comes first.”

«»

Derek blinks his eyes at crystal blue skies and a couple of branches with softly dancing leaves.

“Derek!” Laura yells somewhere from his right and he gets up, frowning down at the tree stump he was apparently lying on.

He gets his feet under him, rolling his shoulders to shake off some stiffness.

“What ha-“

Laura tackles him to the floor in a crushing hug, holding him so tightly he can feel his bones grind against each other.

“I’m sorry, oh god I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

Derek pats her awkwardly on the back, a little lost as to what’s happening here.

“I’m fine. Laura what’s wrong?”

Laura pulls back and gives them enough space to sit up.

“What do you  _ mean _ what’s wrong? Derek you were gone for two days! You touched that tree and then you were just  _ gone _ .”

Derek frowns slightly and then pushes her backwards and gets up, rolling his eyes.

“Very funny, Laura. What happened? Did I slip and pass out or something?”

Laura opens her mouth once, clicks it shut again and chases after him.

“Derek,  _ stop _ . I’m serious where did you go? What happened? Mom is fre-“

Derek rolls his eyes harder, pushing her away.

“Knock it off, Laura. I didn’t  _ go _ anywhere. I was here the whole time.”

Laura grabs his shoulder and makes him stop.

“Derek, I’m serious,” she urges and it gives Derek pause, there’s no uptick in her heartbeat, her face crumpled with worry and guilt.

“I don’t- I  _ didn’t go _ anywhere. Stop it!”

It’s seriously freaking him out now, how Laura is insisting on this so much, how she seems so urgent.

It’s terrifying thinking he could have gone somewhere and have no memories of it, of what he did or what was done to him.

Laura snatches his wrist and brings his hand up.

“Where did you get this?” she demands.

Derek blinks confusedly and the X drawn in sharpie on the back of it.

“You didn’t have it earlier. We both  _ know _ you didn’t have it earlier. You hate writing on yourself, Derek.”

Derek stares at it, the crooked lines and how one leg is longer than the other and he can’t help but feel unbearably sad, like he’s missing something. Like he’s forgetting something  _ vital _ .

He sniffles, realizes he’s crying a little bit.

“Derek,” Laura says urgent and confused, before pulling him forward into a hug. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” he sniffles into her shoulder. “I don’t  _ remember _ .”

The weight of it settles snug and tight on his shoulders. The enormity of it.

“I can’t remember. Laura- Laura, I need to-  _ it’s important _ .”

He knows it’s important, he knows this is something absolutely crucial but he just can’t-

“Hey, it’s okay,” Laura soothes, squeezing him tight in a hug. “We’ll figure it out, okay, little brother? We’ll figure it out.”

Derek sniffles again, rubbing his wet cheek over her shoulder.

“Okay.”

“Okay. Now come on, everyone’s going to be happy you’re back.”

«»

Stiles drags his feet into his room, feeling numb and helpless, the remains of his cheap baseball bat hanging off his palm after he took it to the Nemeton.

He lets himself fall on the floor, in the middle of the futon Derek had been using to sleep in.

He lets the baseball bat fall to the floor next to him and slumps until his back hits the side of his bed, staring without seeing.

All of this for nothing. All of this for Derek’s family to die, for him to lose everything and move away with his sister, his uncle in the hospital.

All of this and the future remains unaltered.

They’ll still die on that day, sacrifices to that tree as a monster chases after them. And then Stiles will send Derek forward in time again to no avail. 

They’ll be stuck in an endless time loop and there’s nothing Stiles can do about it.

He knows, from being with Derek and from what he’s seen in his  _ dreams _ , premonitions, whatever you want to call them, that this is the boy for him. Derek is  _ it _ .

You can say whatever you want about Stiles but he’s always been a bit of a romantic, a bit of a one and done kind of guy and he had thought, honestly thought that Lydia could be it for him.

But now there’s just- there’s Derek and his dead family and Stiles just standing by, letting it happen.

If he wasn’t so bone-deep tired he’d take the remnants of his baseball bat to something else until all that was left was splinters embedded in his hand.

He blinks, eyes slowly coming into focus.

The whiteboard is in front of him, with all the information they gathered about the Hale fire.

Nothing to do about it now, he guesses.

Stiles gets up and goes to erase it and then stops himself.

There’s nothing he can do… except figure out who did this and maybe give Derek and Laura some closure.

«»

When school starts back up Derek mostly forgets all about his lost time and pointedly ignores his compulsive habit of redrawing that cross on the back of his hand.

He doesn’t know why he does it, but he knows it helps him feel grounded, it gives him hope that he’ll be able to remember what he forgot.

It’s because he’s too busy running his thumb over the back of his hand that he doesn’t notice bumping into someone.

“Hey, careful asshole,” a feminine voice snaps.

Derek looks up sharply and his quick remark dies on his lips when he sees whiskey brown eyes, fair skin and a mole.

“I’m- sorry, I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

The girl rolls her eyes, apparently over it already and collects her things from her locker walking away from him.

Derek stands there like an idiot, staring after her.

«»

Her name is Paige and he thinks he loves her. She certainly seems to be  _ exactly _ his type of person to date even if he didn’t ever have a type before. Even if stating she’s his type is ridiculous because he has never dated anyone else to have a  _ type _ .

Her name is Paige and he’s so afraid to loser her.  Lose him again.  He’s so afraid of losing  _ her _ , that he does something stupid.

He doesn’t know why he goes there, but somehow finds himself in the basement of the Nemeton with Paige cradled in his arms and begging him to end it.

«»

Her name is Kate and she’s his substitute teacher and Derek knows it’s wrong but Paige’s death is still fresh in his heart and he figures why not?

Why not? What does he have to lose?

«»

Kate Argent.

Stiles looks down at the name, traces it back to an old hunter’s family that likes to deviate from the code.

“And you’re sure she was here when the fire happened?” Stiles asks for what is probably the fifteenth time.

Satomi nods, calm and unhurried. “I remember her being here,” she says. “She tried to seduce one of my boys. Picked the wrong one.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow in question.

“He was as gay as they came,” she supplies. 

“Ah.”

“I tried to warn Talia,” she sighs regretfully. “But she had too much faith in her kids, too cocky that that emissary of hers would protect her. Never trust emissaries, Stiles,” she advises. “Don’t want to look after anyone but themselves those ones.”

Stiles nods along, thanking whatever higher deities are listening that he found Satomi. He’s not sure he would have figured it out without her and she’s been as helpful as she can.

“They were good people,” she supplies. “I can’t even imagine those poor kids losing their pack and their family in one fell swoop.”

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes out. “Thanks for all the help.”

Satomi nods, gives him a kind grandma smile and pats his cheek. “Come over whenever you want. Your company is enjoyed here. Isn’t it Brett?”

A boy that is probably only a couple years younger than Stiles startles enough that he gives away his hiding spot, cheeks flushed red.

Stiles distractedly ruffles his hair as he passes, trying to think what to do next.

«»

Her name is Kate and she burns down his house.

He doesn’t tell a living soul, not even Laura.

He couldn’t bear how much she would hate him if she knew.

«»

They move to New York where it’s so loud, Derek can’t hear himself thinking most of the time.

Laura changes colleges and drags Derek along with her, declaring she can’t stand beingthat close to home anymore, that they need time before she goes back and reclaims the land that’s rightfully theirs.

She learns under an Alpha who was allied with their mother and owes the Hales a lot.

The New York pack is nice and powerful. They try to include Derek on things, to give him support.

He puts as much distance between himself and them as he can. They’re not  _ his _ pack and they’ll never be.

His pack is dead. He killed them.

Life in New York makes Derek feel numb and detatched.

He gets used to it. It isn’t that bad.

«»

“If you’re fucking with me I’ll personally go to Beacon Hills just to rip your heart out through your throat,” Laura threatens, scowling at Stiles through her webcam.

Stiles spends the next two hours showing her the evidence he’s found, watching as her face becomes more and more serious, rage slanting her eyebrows in a way that make Stiles want to hide under his bed.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “I think I should pay a visit. I’ll be there in a week.”

«»

“Are we leaving?” Derek asks, watching his sister throw clothes and personal hygiene products into the duffel bag she keeps under the bed, in case they need to make a break for it.

“Not we, little brother. Just me. I’ve got some business to attend to.”

Derek frowns. He doesn’t like this.

“What business?”

Laura shrugs vaguely. “You know,  _ business _ . Now butt out. I’ll just be three or four days. You’ll survive without me.” She flashes him a smile like he’s nothing.

Derek doesn’t press for answers.

«»

Someone starts killing wildlife.

Someone starts killing wildlife and carving werewolf symbols into it.

Stiles asks Satomi about it and she tells him that it wasn’t one of hers, and it wasn’t anyone from out of town. She’d know since she keeps a close eye on the borders.

There’s no other ‘wolves in town and they both know it.

No other ‘wolves, but Peter Hale, who’s still hospital bound and catatonic.

«»

“You must be Stiles,” Laura greets him. “Tell me everything you know,” she demands, walking into his house like she owns it and sitting herself on the couch.

“Um, alright. Do you want something to drink?”

“Coffee, please.”

Stiles shrugs and makes them both some coffee, then tells her everything. 

Derek travelling forwards in time, how he found out about Kate, the new killings in the woods.

Laura listens to all of it intently and then leans back against the couch, sighs long and weary.

“Well, fuck me then,” is her eloquent answer to all of this. “We can’t catch a break can we?”

“I’m sorry?” Stiles chances.

“Don’t be kiddo. You’ve actually helped.”

And then she gets up, ruffles his hair and walks out the door.

«»

It’s been four days and Laura hasn’t returned. Even worse, she’s not picking up her phone and Derek’s getting jittery with it, a bad feeling creeping up his spine and the nervousness of not having his alpha close by making him unfocused and making him snap at everyone.

He decides to go after her.

«»

There’s a body in the woods.

Laura went to meet someone and now there’s a body in the woods and Stiles knows who it is, knows it from his dreams, dreams he’s having again about the near future.

Scott gets bitten by a werewolf. Laura dies, is what his dreams tell him.

He doesn’t want to believe them but now there’s a body in the woods and he feels like he’s the one doing this, making the future where him and Derek die possible.

Stiles decides not to call Scott but somehow Scott gets wind of what he’s going to do and insists on going with him.

The feeling of dread spreads up Stiles’ spine the very moment a deputy grabs him by his jacket and he and Scott get separated.

He knows what happens now.

Scott bitten.

Laura dead.

That’s how it goes.

«»

Scott lost his inhaler and ropes Stiles into traipsing through the woods looking for it.

“What are you doing here?” someone calls out, sounding angrier than a couple teenagers trespassing warrant. “This is private property.”

Stiles would answer but his jaw is probably on the floor because  _ Derek _ .

His Derek, in all his scruffy, angry glory is standing in front of him and it’s heartbreaking to see.

Stiles has looked at him for all of three seconds and he already misses the crinkles by his eyes and the easy smile, the relaxed shoulders.

“Sorry man, we didn’t know,” he finds himself saying, heart sinking. This is how it starts.

This is how Derek and Stiles end up dying on a tree stump, closing the time loop.

Laura’s dead and so many people will  _ die _ and it’s going to be his fault for not stopping it, it’s going to-

“Little bro, why are you tormenting the youths?” Laura asks, appearing out of literally nowhere and startling Scott.

“Where did she-“ Scott starts but quiets down when Stiles flaps a hand in his direction.

“Scott, this is my friend Laura,” he stutters, eyes wide with disbelief. “Laura, this is my best friend Scott.”

Laura grins smartly, throwing an arm over Derek’s shoulders and Stiles watches in awe as Derek scowls and pouts a little bit.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Laura says. “This scowly teddy bear is my little brother, Derek. Derek that’s my friend Stiles. He’s been helping me figure out what happened to our family.”

Stiles sees Derek tense under Laura’s arm and her hugging him harder against her side.

“ _ Dude _ ,” Scott complains. “When were you going to tell me you were playing detectives with a Hale?”

Stiles shrugs because the answer is  _ never _ but it’s not like he can tell Scott that.“I didn’t think it mattered.”

“ _ Dude _ ,” Scott says again, fitting a world of bro betrayal into that one word.

Laura snorts. “As adorable as all this is, Derek and I have to go. We have an uncle to bury. See you later, Stiles.”

Stiles waves, trying not to stare too intently at Derek. “Bye.”

Scott punches him in the shoulder when they’re out of sight.

“ _ Dude _ .”

«»

Stiles is poring over a magic book he might or might not have stolen from Deaton when his window is jimmied open and Derek somersaults in with the grace and poise of a trained gymnast.

Stiles seriously considers writing a big 10 in a blank sheet of paper and holding it up for him.

“Laura says you know what happened. How?” Derek demands, eyes squinting dangerously, a growl just at the edge of his voice.

Stiles takes a deep breath, gearing himself to do it.

“You might want to sit down for this.”

«»

Derek listens to this kid,  _ Stiles _ , explain how he knew about what happened to his family, about impossible time travel and dreams and how apparently he managed to change the future just enough that Laura didn’t die like she was supposed to.

By the end of it Derek is feeling dazed and grateful on some level.

He has no idea what he would do without Laura.

When Stiles is done he gets up, sets a hand on his shoulder and says as earnestly as he can possible manage to, “Thank you.”

Stiles chokes and stutters his way through saying it’s okay, it was nothing  _ really _ .

Derek squeezes his shoulder and watches him blush high on his cheeks and he thinks  _ maybe _ . Maybe when Stiles is older, maybe maybe maybe, because it’s not like he can say he feels nothing but he also can’t say he feels an overwhelming need to ravish this teenager standing in front of him.

“Bye, Stiles.”

“Bye,” Stiles wheezes as Derek throws himself out of the window.

«»

Laura and Derek head back to New York a week later. They have their jobs there and Derek still has college to finish.

Stiles watches them go with his heart feeling lighter than it has since he saw Derek vanish before his very eyes.

Stiles is surprised when Laura calls him up to chat and asks if he’d like to come to New York for spring break. He says yes without thinking twice about it, and after that they don’t really ever stop talking.

At first he’s a little thrown by how different this Derek is from the one he met. Then his heart aches when he finds that  _ his _ Derek is still there, buried so deep under layers of grief and guilt that he’s probably suffocating.

Stiles adds making Derek smile to his list of things to do right between finishing high school and figuring out if he accidentally created a paradox and giant time-consuming pterodactyls are coming for him.

It’s a slow process but he gets there. Along the way Laura gains a pack and finds her younger sister and a new magically inclined protector in the form of Stiles (because emissaries still suck and Stiles wants nothing to do with that title).

«»

It’s only a couple of years later that Stiles follows, freshly graduated and ready for college.

He knocks on Laura’s door and bounces on the balls of his feet.

They know he’s coming. It’s not like Stiles was stupid enough to completely let both of them fall out of touch. They’ve texted and skyped and even visited each other for some holidays. Stiles has it on pretty good authority he is an honorary Hale by now.

Laura throws the door open with a beaming smile and her arms open.

Stiles steps right in to hug her. “I saved your life, house me,” he demands and Laura laughs in his ear, trying to squeeze the breath out of him.

“How could I refuse such a handsome man asking for housing?” she says dramatically and ruffles his hair fondly.

“Stilinski,” Cora greets from where she’s stretched out across the couch.

“Hale,” he greets back, grinning and throwing a wink at her. Cora rolls her eyes and pointedly turns back to the television.

That was another development. Cora Hale found somewhere in South America, down in Mexico with the few Hales that live there, dragged all the way to Beacon Hills by an Alpha pack that almost took their lives.

“Where’s the rest of the puppies?” Stiles asks.

Erica, Isaac and Boyd becoming werewolves and expanding Laura’s pack had been half an accident, half Stiles’ behind the scenes meddling when he heard that bigger packs were stronger and more stable.

It hadn’t taken much to make the trio accidentally stumble upon Laura and Derek frolicing through the woods while they were in Beacon Hills searching for the perfect land to build their new house. It had taken even less to convince Laura that they’d make good pack members and that taking them to New York (and away from their abusive and/or struggling families) would be the right thing to do.

Erica loves New York and Isaac loves having an excuse to wear scarves during the snow. Boyd, though he doesn’t like to admit it loves walking around the lit up streets during christmas. Cora just loves being with her family again.

They’ll probably miss New York when they’re all out of college and move back into Beacon Hills, once the new house is ready.

Cora shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably scouting an apartment, they don’t want to hear the gross sex you and Derek will have now that your ass is legal and Daddy isn’t breathing down your neck anymore.”

Stiles trips over his own feet and something crashes loudly down the hall.

Cora smirks like the evil thing she is.

“Speaking of my brother, you should probably go see him. He’s been moping all day.”

Stiles can’t really help but feel giddy to see Derek, dropping his bags right there in the middle of the living room and bounding down the hall. He barely has a chance to knock on Derek’s door before it’s being thrown back and Derek is right there in all his  _ trying not to smile and failing spectacularly  _ glory.

“So you’ll be living with us?” Derek asks, trying not to sound excited.

“I housed your teenaged werewolf ass for two weeks. It’s payback time Hale.”

Derek smirks and nods mock seriously. “Seems fair,” he concedes before stepping forward and crushing Stiles into a hug that grinds his bones together.

Stiles hugs back. “Ugh, I missed you.”

Derek makes this little noise that Stiles will interpret as  _ I missed you too _ and hugs tighter.

Stiles presses the corner of his mouth to Derek’s stubbly cheek, a stark contrast to the last time he hugged him like this.

A hello versus a goodbye and god, he hopes from now on it will always be a hello.

Stiles has learned his lesson about letting Derek Hale go and there’s no chance in hell he’s doing it again.

Derek pulls back and smiles at him and right now, framed by the light coming from his room he looks exactly like the miracle this second chance is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so basically what we've learned is that i'm still a slut for young!derek and should not write longer things 'cause yikes man that angst


End file.
